


Hand in Unlovable Hand

by tingodvons



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Explicit Language, M/M, Medication, Minor Injuries, Panic Attacks, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tingodvons/pseuds/tingodvons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His cane clacks against the hard floor as he walks over to the other side of the lab, the sound like a thunderclap, while Newt gapes at him, cause was this guy fucking serious?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand in Unlovable Hand

Newton Geiszler studies science. He has science running through his veins and is a walking, talking brain, covered in ink and only speaks in quick words and boisterous laughter. He’s a scientist, he’s a rockstar, he’s fucking _awesome,_ that’s what he is. He studies the mysteries the universe offers, what it hasn’t offered, and what the universe doesn’t even know it has.

And Hermann Gottlieb is definitely one of those mysteries. 

So, truly, Newt spending his free time thinking about Hermann Gottlieb is just like spending his free time thinking over the Kaiju. It’s simple science, just his curiosity getting to the better of him, nothing weird or off-putting about it. It’s the mysteries of the universe, right?

A mystery that limps around, clutching his cane and most of the other time, a piece of chalk. The sound of it scratching against the blackboard might just possibly be the bane of his existence; as Hermann goes over his _numbers_ and his _calculations_ and yes, Newt will admit that it is science, but it doesn’t feel like science to him. He understands it, but only because he has to, and refuses to think of Hermann as a genius. 

Except he _is_ , he’s a complete genius, speaking the language of numbers and mathematics, brilliance and hypotheses, theories and certainties, and most of all, _science_. And maybe worst of all, he knows the language of _how to fucking piss Newt off_. 

Hermann knows that language like it’s second nature, like it has been flowing through his body since he was born, like it’s coded in his fucking _DNA,_ like the bonds holding his guanine and cytosine, adenine and thymine together say _fuck around with him, just for the fun of it_. Newt knows this the second the man hobbles through the door to the lab, wrinkling his nose at the smell of fresh Kaiju samples and formaldehyde, ethanol and methanol and the stuff that makes Newt _thrive_ , and saying in his _stupid, posh_ accent, “Do you have to keep those in here?” 

“Uh, dude,” Newt laughs, taking his hands out of the unidentified organ that he’s probably in the middle of making breakthrough discoveries with (not to toot his own horn, or anything, but he _is_ a genius), and motioning around the room. “It’s a _laboratory_. Y’know, for _science_?” 

The man sniffs indignantly, remarking, “I know what science is, you child, but I was hoping maybe you’d be working on a solution to our alien problem?” 

His cane clacks against the hard floor as he walks over to the other side of the lab, the sound like a thunderclap, while Newt gapes at him, cause was this guy fucking _serious_? 

Then Pentecost strolls in, or, as close to strolling as Pentecost could get, and notices the two in their strict silence. “I see you’ve already become acquainted,” he says, looking between the two. “Dr. Newton Geiszler, I’d like you to meet Dr. Hermann Gottlieb; you’re new coworker.” 

Newt stares at Pentecost for a moment, then looks back at the man-- Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, apparently, y’know, the guy who wrote the first codes for a Jaeger, and Jesus, of _course_ Newt’s heard of him, but he thought he’d be a little more, well, _cool_ \-- who is sitting on the stool in front of the blackboard (where Newt has Kaiju diagrams drawn), looking smug as _hell_ , then manages to sputter, “I’m sorry, did you say _coworker_? Like I have to _work_ with this asshole?” 

“Excuse me!” Hermann says, clearly having taken offense, which, _good_ , Newt decides, he needs a good kick in his neatly pressed pants. “I would appreciate if we kept the vulgar names to a _minimum_.”

“Right, sorry, you’re not an asshole,” Newt corrections with a wry grin, “you’ve just a huge stick up your ass!” 

“What, and they expect me to work with you? Some hippie with a Masters who is, might I mention, _elbow deep_ in Kaiju organs, who’s synapses _clearly_ don’t work correctly to stop his thoughts from becoming words?” 

“I have a PhD in Biology, and _several_ doctorates, thank you very much!” 

“Well, that’s hard to believe-- what with all those god awful _tattoos_ \--” 

“Gentlemen!” Pentecost shouts, and they both fall silent. “Will this be...” he sighs, regaining his composure, “a problem?” 

Newt and Hermann both glare at each other, until Newt casts his eyes down back to his blue covered hands and mutters, “Not at all, sir.” 

“Good, then I’ll leave you two to your work. Good day,” and Pentecost turns on his heel and strides back out. 

Newt knows, in that moment, that Hermann knows _exactly_ how to push his buttons, rile him up, piss him off, _whatever_ ; and Newt does just the same for him. 

They argue, they bicker, they file complaints against each other-- _Dr. Gottlieb has no sense of humor whatsoever_ , Newt writes on one of the forms. _All Hermann does is complain about me, I doubt he’s getting any_ actual _work done!_ he writes on another. 

A week and a half into working together, Hermann brings out the hazmat tape. “Dude, what are you _doing_?” Newt asks, laughing as he watches his coworker struggle with the tape. 

Hermann huffs, and a moment later he stands back up straight, brushing off his usual (stupid) sweater vest and patting down his (stupid) hair, his (stupid) face slightly red. “This,” he says, using his cane to motion to the side of the tape he is standing on, “is _my_ side of the laboratory. And that,” he points to where Newt is standing, on the opposite side of the tape, “is _yours_. If you truly _are_ capable of anything, please respect my boundaries!” 

Newt leaves Kaiju entrails on Hermann’s desk for the next two weeks. 

 

*****

 

Newt sings. He likes to sing, of course he does, he’s a fucking rockstar _._ He likes it so much he does it unconsciously; almost shoulder deep inside a piece of Kaiju heart (those things are fucking _massive_ ) and he’ll be singing _Only the Good Die Young_ under his breath. He thrives under Hermann’s glares, like a plant needing sunlight, so when the man sends him a positively chilly look over his shoulder, Newt just grins at him, winks, and sings louder. 

“ _Come on Virginia, show me a sign! Send up a signal, I’ll throw you a line. The stain glass curtain you’re hidin’ behind never lets in the sun.”_ At this point he has his hands out of the Kaiju heart, hazmat gloves and most of his arms completely caked in slimy Kaiju insides, and has danced his way over, across the line of tape (not that he ever pays it any mind anyway), and he leaning against the blackboard, right over whatever mathematical work Hermann is doing. “ _Darlin’ only the good die young!_ ”

“Would you stop that!” Hermann snaps at him, grabbing his arm and hauling him away from the blackboard. He looks down at his hand in disgust, now covered in a slight slime, and wipes his hand on his jacket, then looks back up at his blackboard. “You smudged my work!” He rounds on Newt (who is grinning and positively _glowing)_ and grits his teeth, completely red in the face, and says, “Do you have to be so damn _obnoxious_ all the time?” 

Newt gives him another wink, “I’m a rockstar, baby,” he coos, “Can’t help but be this awesome.” 

“You’re a Kaiju groupie, that’s what you are!” Hermann crosses his arms across his chest.

“Y’know, I bet you’re one of those dudes who listens to _classical_ music in his spare time.” Newt waves a hand dismissively. Some blue slime flies in it’s wake, and Hermann leans back slightly to avoid it, his scowl growing deeper. 

“There’s--there’s nothing wrong with that!” Hermann sputters. “Much better than whatever new-age-modern _crap_ you listen to!” 

“ ‘New-age-modern _crap_?’ I take _personal_ offense to that-- that was Billy Joel, an iconic music _genius_. I bet if I started singing Queen you’d think that was shit too!” 

Hermann casts a glance at the ceiling, muttering, “ _Mein Gott_ ,” before turning back to his precious blackboard. 

Newt doesn’t consider the whole thing entirely settled, even as he strides back to the Kaiju heart on his side of the lab, humming _Don’t Stop Me Now_ because...because...because Hermann set himself up for it, that’s why. 

So the next day he brings in his portable radio, blasting _The Doors_ and _Duran Duran_ and _Smashing Pumpkins,_ just for good measure, and it drives Hermann wild, drives him insane, drives him up the wall, so much so that his usual neatly done hair is sticking up by dinner time because he has run his fingers through it so many goddamn times in frustration, and Newt hasn’t smiled this much in years. 

Hell, at some point he even plays _She Blinded Me With Science_ and Hermann gets positively livid at that one, he screams for half an hour straight and eventually storms out of the lab for ten minutes before returning. Newt counts it as one of the most satisfying moments in his life.

Victory is a sweet, but it’s short lived, cause the next day Pentecost corners him right before breakfast and sighs, saying, “Dr. Geiszler, must you _always_...” He stops, then continues, “Can’t you and Dr. Gottlieb at least be _civil_ towards each other?”

After a short argument (“How do you expect me to be “civil” with a guy who divided the lab in half!” and “Well, that sounds like something you’re going to have to work out, but I am sick and tired of getting complaints from both of you left and right, especially with the _noise_ complaint I just got from him--” and “Its all his fucking fault anyway!” and “I don’t care whose fault it is!” ) Newt storms back to the lab, skipping breakfast completely, grabs his small radio and walks back to his room, fuming, with steam practically coming out of his ears, and he goes right past Hermann, who says, “Oi, where are you going?”

“Leave me alone, asshole.” He’s never been this angry in his fucking _life_ (okay-- exaggeration, whatever), not even in college when his roommate kicked him out for saying how awesome the Kaiju looked and Newt slept in the dorm halls for two weeks. Seriously, who does Hermann Gottlieb think he fucking _is,_ with his _accent_ and his _sweater vests_ and his ability to piss Newt off to no end. 

It’s the first time he’s actually feeling anger towards this man, not just annoyance, and his blood is boiling as Hermann hobbles after him, shouting, “Where are you _going_ , we have work to do--!” 

“Just leave me _alone_ , Gottlieb!” God, Newt sounds like a fucking _teenager_ , and he walks faster through the halls of the Shatterdome. He can hear Hermann’s cane hitting the ground as the man goes after him, and the sharp sounds getting faster and faster, and if Newt listens hard enough he can hear his coworker breathing heavily and he feels-- ...guilty. He feels guilty, but Newton Geiszler is never one to give up easily, never accept defeat, but he slows down considerably. 

When he reaches his room (the sounds of Hermann following him has slowed down to a pace where it doesn’t sound like he’s running a fucking _marathon_ ), Newt closes the iron door behind him. He stands in the middle of his room for--well, he figures it isn’t all that long, maybe a minute or so, if even _that_ , but the radio is still clutched in his grasp and his ears still feel like they’re steaming, like his brain is boiling in a tea kettle and maybe, if he opens his mouth, his screams will sound like the tea kettle whistling and--wait, derailed, the point is, he’s still _fucking pissed_.

Then someone knocks on his door.

Newt doesn’t have to rub two brain cells together to try to figure out who it is. Still, he stands in front of the door and peaks through the eyehole. As he expects, there’s Hermann Gottlieb, standing a little too close to the door and completely red in the face. Newt sighs, because goddamn, Hermann is just as determined as he is (maybe just as crazy too), so he opens the door. 

Hermann’s leaning heavily on his cane, and Newt is suddenly hit with a new wave of guilt, cause of _course_ it would be difficult for Hermann to go after him, Jesus, is Newt really _that_ bad? His chest goes a little tight, especially when he sees his coworker’s face completely red and-- guilt, that’s what he’s feeling. Yeah, it’s totally just guilt. He should apologize, like actually say the words _I’m sorry,_ which is something he’s said maybe four or five times in his adult life, and--

“Dude, you didn’t have to chase after me.”

Why the _fuck_ did he just say that, fucking Christ, maybe Newt really was as _that_ bad.

If possible, Hermann’s face goes a little bit more red, and the man says, “I wasn’t-- _chasing after you_ , _mein gott_ , I was just...” he goes silent for a moment, lips in their usual slightly crooked downward trail, and why is Newt staring at his lips? “You--you had me worried. Not really _worried_ as much as...” he trails off again. Newt is still staring at his lips. Hermann doesn’t seem to notice. Newt _really_ needs to stop staring at his lips, and--

“Well, really, the radio isn’t that much of a problem,” Hermann finally says, and _that_ gets Newt’s attention _real_ quick, his eyes snapping up to meet the other man’s. “As long as it stays as a decent volume, of course.”

Newt grins, he can’t _help_ it, and Hermann rolls his eyes, saying, “Come on, you fool, we have work to do.” 

(Newt won’t admit it, but his heart does a weird jumping-jack-type thing when Hermann says “we”.) 

They’re walking back to the lab, Newt careful to keep his pace slow so Hermann doesn’t work as hard, when the other man says, “Of course, the singing is definitely a problem, that must come to an end.” 

“Aw, c’mon Hermann! I’m a rockstar, I can’t stop singing!” 

“It’s positively _ghastly_ , I can’t get a single thing done with you doing that-- what you call “singing”, I can assure you, it definitely isn’t!” 

Newt’s grin stays plastered on his face. “My singing is awesome, you know you love it.” 

They enter the lab together, and Hermann sends him a chilly glare in response to his rockstar declaration (because Newt is totally and undeniably one). 

He doesn’t stop grinning for the rest of the fucking day. 

 

*****

 

The whole thing about the radio and the singing is back in the Sydney Shatterdome, and after that, they come to a sort of understanding. A mutual respect--or, almost respect. They still argue, and bicker, and sometimes the occasional complaint to their superior comes around, but they have an _understanding_. Newt figures you’ve gotta have one when you start moving labs a lot, packing up supplies and flying to new locations on a day or two’s notice, and other coworkers and interns come and go, but it’s always the two of them still there. Hermann still breaks out the hazmat tape at every new lab, and splits it down the middle, stating, “ _No_ Kaiju specimens on my side of the lab, Newton! And this time I _mean_ it!” and yeah, Newt’s only response is, “Y’know, I’m _pretty sure_ you just made your side of the lab bigger!” but it’s all the same, no matter where they go, it’s one of the few consistent things in Newt’s life. Hey, they even end up on a first name basis, although Hermann still calls him _Newton_ and that grates on his nerves sometimes, but he’ll take progress where he can get it. 

Newt hardly notices all the moving, to be totally honest, cause he gets really into his work, like, _really_ into it. He goes days without sleeping (his record is 70 hours) and skips meals on a regular basis because, hey, he’s Newt Geiszler, he’s a rockstar, he’s awesome, but most of all, he’s a _scientist_. So, really, only getting 3 hours of sleep and missing two or three meals on a regular basis isn’t too big of a sacrifice for _science._

On the days where he tends to skip past meals (“I can’t eat now, Hermann, I’ve got to catalogue more of the Kaiju heart!”), Hermann leaves packages of crackers on his desk, or a bag of chips, or sometimes an entire tray of that day’s lunch. 

Newt snags packages of tea from the monthly food shipments to their current Shatterdome, and puts them in Hermann’s desk drawers in return (and does not, under any circumstances, feel his chest tighten and his heart do those weird jumping-jack-exercises when he sees Hermann’s surprised face).

They don’t talk about it. It’s just something they do, and no one really knows. Newt still leaves Kaiju entrails on Hermann’s side of the room, and one time Hermann pours shampoo in Newt’s coffee for revenge. Newt still smears the blackboard when Hermann isn’t in the room, drawing on it when he’s really pissed off (leaves doodles in unsuspecting corners and snickers when he hears Hermann huff in annoyance, clicking his tongue and muttering, “What a child.”), and Hermann still calls him a _Kaiju grrrrrrrroupie_ with his stupid rolling R’s. 

But, okay, see-- Newt tries not to speak German at the Shatterdome, because everyone around him always seems to be speaking a different language, so he might as well keep it the same, but he can’t help it if he steps back into his native language around Hermann. They still talk in English, mostly, except for a few words that slip through the cracks. It’s all the same, really, because it all flows together into one monologue in Newt’s mind. Occasionally Hermann will give him his signature, cold glares that could freeze hell, and mutter, “ _Dummkopf,_ ” under his breath, but the whole thing makes Newt grin anyway. 

German is a good language for them because it’s a good language to yell in, a good language to insult in, a good language to tease someone in. Especially if that someone is one of the universe’s many mysteries. 

All of this leads up to one day, they’re in the lab, working in an unusual silence, when Hermann opens one of his desk drawers and shouts, “ _My god!_ ” Newt snickers, because he knows he’s just found the small string of intestines Newt left in there after last night. “ _You insufferable manchild!”_ Hermann shrieks, slamming his hands on his desk, and Newt looks over his shoulder in time to see him stand up. 

“ _That’s it! That’s the final straw!_ ” Hermann continues to shout, and Newt grins because it’s hilarious, obviously. “ _I am done with your pranks, Dr. Geiszler!”_

“ _Calm down, it’s just a joke!”_ Newt defends himself, holding his hands up in surrender. _“No need to get your panties in a twist, Herms!”_

_“That’s Hermann! My name is Hermann!”_

They continue their shouting match, getting louder and louder as the seconds tick on, until they hear a third person clear their throat. Hermann shouts, _“What?”_ and they both look at the door, only to see Marshall Pentecost standing there expectantly. 

Newt holds back a laugh when he sees Hermann stand up straighter out of the corner of his eye, and immediately attempt to redeem himself with, “ _Marshall Pentecost! Excuse me, I was so caught up--”_

“Dr. Gottlieb,” Pentecost starts, pauses, presses his lips together, then turns slightly to Newt. “Dr. Geiszler. I would greatly appreciate it if you two would speak in English.” 

Hermann turns slightly red, and Newt has to think about the last few moments, before he realizes that they’ve been speaking entirely in German. He laughs loudly, completely audible, and says, “Sorry, Marshall Pentecost,” while Hermann stutters through saying, “My deepest apologies.” 

They avoid speaking German for the next few weeks, until Hermann brushes by Newt in the mess hall briefly and mutters, “ _Dummkopf.”_ Newt tries to suppress his smile, and makes sure to get back to their lab first so he can write several curse words on Hermann’s blackboard. 

 

*****

 

Things eventually shift, of course. Throws Newt’s world off kilter, more than the 23.5 degrees that the world is currently at. Turns his world upside-down momentarily, until he rights himself and just walks away, keeps walking, won’t let this affect him. He won’t blush when he walks into the lab the next morning. He absolutely refuses.

Wait, let him start from the beginning. 

Newt’s on his way to Hermann’s room cause two pilots have reported newfound telepathy, and Newt chalks it up as another ghost drift symptom, but he wants a second, scientific opinion. And the other scientist is extremely educated in the workings of Jaegar and their Neural Handshakes, so really, it’s more of a professional opinion. Cause ghost drifts leave the pilots in need of physical proximity, feeling each other’s emotions slightly, but not full blown _telepathy_. The whole thing is some crazy shit.

“Hermann!” Newt calls, rapping his hand on the iron door. There’s no response, so he tries the door handle-- unlocked. It’s unlocked. Hermann probably has headphones in or something, listening to his _classical_ music, or maybe he’s asleep. Either way, Newt isn’t interrupting anything important, so he bursts into the room. 

It’s empty. Or, void of any presence of Hermann; at least, Newt things so until he hears the sound of the shower running in the minuscule bathroom attached to every room. Hermann’s room is stupidly neat too, much like how it’s owner is stupidly...stupid. There is absolutely nothing on the walls, in stark contrast to Newt’s own room, and the desk has stacks of files on it, all perfectly organized. The bed is made, the covers pulled tight and even across the mattress, the pillow fluffed to the perfect size. 

The entire room screams Hermann Gottlieb. It makes Newt a little sick to his stomach. 

But, anyway, Newt is not below asking Hermann questions while the man is in the shower, so he goes and opens the door slightly, steam leaking out, and the sound of the shower getting louder. He opens his mouth to speak and-- wait, was that a _moan_? Holy _shit_ \-- wait, is he moaning _words_ , maybe even a name, _fucking--_

“Hnn...Newto-- _fuck_.”

That’s definitely a moan, and that is definitely Hermann moaning his fucking _name_. Christ. Under no circumstances is Newt getting hard in his pants. There’s a gasp, then a long groan, and no, he definitely isn’t hard in his jeans, and the feeling of his face becoming flush is definitely, _definitely_ because of the steam. 

Newt hightails it out of there. Doesn’t even know if he closes the door all the way, he’s red in the face and speed walking back to his room, his erection straining in his jeans, oh god, was Hermann really--

“Dr. Geiszler!” a voice calls after him, and Newt spins around to see Mako Mori coming towards him, blue highlights glowing in the dim lights of the Shatterdome hallways, with her usual sweet smile, and Newt feels guilty cause there is he is with a fucking _hard-on_ and completely flustered. 

“Hey there, Ms. Mori!” Newt’s voice is a little too high pitched, so he clears his throat. She bows slightly to him. “How can I help you?” 

She stands there for a moment, clipboard clutched close to her chest, and then tilts her head slightly as she studies his face. Oh god, she can fucking _tell_ , can’t she. Newt knows you can’t hide anything from Ms. Mako Mori, but he just hopes she’ll hide it from Pentecost. 

“I just came to tell you that the earlier pilots who complained of telepathy just reported that it has stopped.” She gives him a curious look. “Are you okay, Dr. Geiszler? You’re looking slightly flushed...” 

“Fine!” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat again. “Just fine, Ms. Mori!” There, back to normal. “And thank you for the information, good to see the effects didn’t last very long.”

“Did you get your second opinion from Dr. Gottlieb?” she asks innocently. 

_Fuck_ , he _had_ told her that was what he was going to do, hadn’t he? Fuck fuck fuckety _fuck_. Just the thought of Hermann makes his dick throb. Oh god, he’s so _screwed--_ and not in a good way, goddamnit.

“Uh, n-not yet! I was just-- just on my way there, yeah!” Why did he fucking _say that_. “Just...on my way...” He rocks back and forth on his heels like a fucking five year old, Jesus _fucking_ Christ.

“Isn’t Dr. Gottlieb’s room in the opposite direction?” she asks. Why is this kid so fucking _smart_?

“D-Did I say I was going there?” Newt gives off a nervous laugh. “I-I meant, I was coming from there!” The word “coming” has the sound of Hermann’s moans attached to it, and Newt can’t stop blushing like a fucking _school girl,_ Christ. “Yeah, uh, Hermann didn’t answer his door, so I’ll, uh...I’ll check with him tomorrow!” 

Mako doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, but she shrugs anyway and gives him a bright smile. “Of course, Dr. Geiszler! I will leave you to take care of, uh, your _personal_ business.” And she giggles, turns on her heel and walks off in a way that reminds him of Pentecost, but with more bounce in her step.

Newt practically _sprints_ back to his room, and slams the door shut behind him. Stares at the Kaiju diagrams on his walls, the band posters, looks at his messy desk and can’t help picturing Hermann’s neatly organized one. When he thinks of Hermann, he remembers the moans, he can hear his name through the shower spray, and Newt palms himself through his jeans cause _fuck,_ he really is screwed. 

He flops onto his bed (not neatly made like Hermann’s, nope, his covers are kicked off the edge and the sheets are all wrinkled) and his hands fumble with his zipper and button on his jeans, and finally gets them down, along with his boxers too. Finally grips his erection and-- _fuck_ , that feels good. It doesn’t take too long for him, just a few quick strokes, and then he’s throwing his head to the side, biting into the pillow to muffle his moan, glasses digging into the side of his face with Hermann’s name on his lips. 

Newt will deny the fact that he got off to the thought of Hermann Gottlieb for the rest of eternity, he decides a moment later. And even past eternity, he will deny it. The universe could explode and he will. Deny. It. 

The next day he walks into the lab, after breakfast, and Hermann is already there, scribbling on his blackboard as per usual. “Good morning, Newton.” 

His name sounds so goddamned _normal_ , and Newt does not, under any circumstances, _blush_. So he clears his throat, then says, “Hermann, dude, I wanted your opinion on something some Jaegar pilots reported yesterday.” 

 

*****

 

From that point on, Newt pretends that he doesn’t jerk off regularly to the thought of Hermann on his knees (even though that’s physically impossible, he knows) or Hermann under him, moaning his name like he had the other day, writhing beneath him, and wonders if he’ll taste like chalk if he kisses him. He definitely tries not to get too distracted in the lab with thoughts of Hermann bending him over the lab table, thoughts of being hit by Hermann’s cane and-- no, Newt, _stop that_. 

Oh, but if all that isn’t bad enough, there’s the whole Ladder Incident, and Newt has something equivalent to five separate heart attacks that day, it’s terrifying. Not actual heart attacks, mind you, but when he hears a _snap_ over his _Zeppelin_ tracks and then a _thud_ , quickly followed by someone groaning in what is obviously pain, Newt swears on every possible almighty being that his heart stops. 

“Hermann?” Newt asks, turning around from where he had been hunched over a sliver of Kaiju samples, and saw, well, no one, and he panicked a little. 

“I’m--ah, _shit_ \--down here.” 

Newt takes a step or two forward, looks down, and oh _god_ , there’s Hermann, lying flat on his back and face scrunched up in pain, and there’s Pseudo-Heart-Attack-Number-Two. 

“Dude!” Newt stumbles forward, to his knees, crouching over Hermann’s body. “Dude, Hermann, wait don’t-- don’t move!” He puts a hand on Hermann’s chest as the man tries to get up. “Don’t get up, oh my god, are you okay?” 

Hermann cracks his eyes open just a bit, and Number Three happens when he’s hit with both the Hell Freezing Glare and a look of raw anguish and pain. “I’m on the bloody floor,” he hisses through his teeth, “Do I look like I’m _okay_?”

“Okay, no wait, I-- what _happened_?” Newt has a billion and five things he wants to say, his words tumbling over themselves to get out of his mouth, why aren’t humans built to do things like speak five different sentences at once? 

“Bloody...ladder br-- _ah!_ ” Newt watches in horror (and Pseudo-Number-Four happens) as the other man attempts to prop himself up on his elbows, and then collapses again on his back, letting out a weak groan afterwards. His eyes are clenched shut again, breathing shallow but steady. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll,” Newt looks between the broken step on the ladder and Hermann, panic bubbling in the bottom of his mind and threatening to take over, god _damnit_ , he has to stay calm, he has to be the level headed one for once in his fucking _life_. “I’ll call medical!” he says with a rush, and it feels like something is gnawing at the back of his eyes, like the sensation after you’ve cried too much, and Newt’s trying to stand up on wobbly legs but it’s not _working, goddamnit,_ he has to get up and he _can’t fucking breathe, oh my god, something’s stolen his lungs he can’t get a breath in_ \--

Something grabs his wrist, and while his head swirls and tries to fold itself around the panic attack that’s forcefully stolen his breath at gunpoint, Newt finds himself back on his knees and starting to keen over, when he hears a clear, forceful voice through the raging thunderstorm in his mind, “ _Newton_.” 

It grounds him, gives him a shelter from the lightning that’s flashing dangerously close in his brain, and Newt locks eyes with Hermann again, and instead of pain he just sees an iron door, something to hide behind, something to keep him from the roaring winds that are throwing his thoughts around, and Hermann says, “Newton, _breathe_.” 

Newt takes in a long, shaky breath, giving his lungs hope in the dark cellar they’re trapped in. He repeats the process. Hermann has him by the wrist and is keeping him from being swept up in a tornado of panic. He breathes again, until his heart isn’t going between running a million miles per hour and almost stopping. He rinses and repeats the process. He does it again, until his mind is clear, and he realizes he’s been staring at Hermann, bug-eyed, and the man is thin lipped and still has a hold of his wrist. 

“Are you okay now?” he asks, forceful and sharp enough that it’s like a whip cracking over his head. 

Newt nods. 

“Good.” He lets go of Newt’s wrist, and Newt half expects to be suddenly picked up by a tornado, but nothing happens. “Now, go call goddamn medical.” 

That’s what Newt does, he calls goddamn medical, and watches from off in the corner as they put Hermann on a stretcher, and walk out with him, very casually, and Newt wants to _scream,_ wants to _shout_ , cause that’s _Hermann Gottlieb_ they’re carting away, be a little careful with him-- but it’s no use, his throat is still cloaked in honey and there are angry bees in his stomach threatening trying to fly their way up and out of his mouth.

It’s later on that day, when Newt is pacing around Hermann’s side of the lab cause it’s the most space he’s had in awhile, but it still feels like the walls are closing in on him slowly but surely, all because no one has told him about Hermann or how he’s doing. Did he break a rib? Did he break _ribs_ , plural? Injured his back? Messed up his stupidly oversized brain?

_“Newton,”_ the sharp voice cuts through his mind, _“breathe.”_

“I’m breathing,” he mutters to himself. “I’m fucking _breathing_.” He casts a look at one of the orange bottles of medication, briefly considers that, just this once, maybe taking them would be a good idea, but quickly tosses the thought out of his mind. 

His brain snags on the word _tosses_ and he’s walking towards his desk, about to grab the medication and _toss_ them down the sink, _toss_ them out the window, _toss_ them all over the room. It seems like a great idea, a wonderful, perfect idea rooted way back in time to his rebellious days when he first started taking them. It seems like a great idea, until he trips over something laying on the floor, and his forehead bangs painfully against corner of his desk, rattling the bottles placed near the edge, before he lands on the ground.

He rolls over, propping himself up on his elbows and leaning against the front of his desk. “Fucking _ow,_ ” he mutters, and rubs his forehead and makes sure it isn’t bleeding (it isn’t), and then looks at what the _fuck_ he’s tripped over, and spots Hermann’s cane. 

It’s like the universe has given him some sort of sign, some sort of permission, and before he knows it, Newt has snatched up the cane, and he’s scrambling to his feet, sprinting through the hallways as fast as he can go to medical, head throbbing and heart pumping.

He peaks his head into every room until he finds Hermann, laying in a bed, propped upright by pillows and glasses perched on the edge of his nose, book in his hands.

“Hermann!” he says in a singsong voice, slightly out of breath, entering the room. The man looks up, startled. “You left your cane!” Newt tells him, waving it around and twirling it through his fingers. 

“St-stop that! _Newton_!” Hermann snaps, and when Newt gets close enough, snatches it right out of the air. He huffs, and Newt grins, and for a moment everything is back to normal, the walls aren’t closing in anymore and his mind is clear for the first time in hours. 

“So, what’s the doc say? Broken ribs? Concussion?” Newt asks, grabbing a nearby chair and spinning it around before finally sitting in it. “Do you get bandages? Got some sick ass bruises?”

“Just some bruised ribs, really, the fall wasn’t even that far,” Hermann says, sniffing, and then adds quietly, “Although they don’t want me walking for the next twenty-four hours.” He doesn’t give a reason why. Newt thinks he doesn’t really need one.

“Well, if you don’t want to spend the next twenty-four hours in medical, I’ll wheel you back to your room,” Newt offers, fully expecting to be shot down completely. But it’s worth a try. 

Hermann closes his book, and folds his hands in his lap. “Well, I suppose that would be preferable,” he says after a moment, and Newt stares at him for a moment. “Well, are you going to get a wheelchair, or just gape at me?” 

That snaps Newt out of it, whatever _it_ is. “Nope!” he jumps out of his seat, toppling the chair over. “Off to get the wheelchair!” 

Okay, so, convincing the doctors to let Hermann out of medical takes awhile, but he thinks he makes a pretty good argument of, “Cause he wants to _leave_ ,” before one of the doctors laughs and hands him a wheelchair with an eye roll, along with an orange bottle. “Have him take two every twelve hours or so,” she instructs. “Should help with the pain.” Newt gives her thanks, pockets them, and grabs the wheelchair.

“Got your wheels, Hermann!” he announces, screeching to a halt in front of Hermann’s bed. 

His response is a very distasteful look. “Yes, well, let me...”  Hermann starts to sit up, then lets out a noise of discomfort that Newt could only describe as a squawk, and then he sinks  back down on the pillows. “I may have...miscalculated my abilities,” he admits quietly, looking down, and, oh my god, is he _blushing_? Newt grins cause it’s like fucking Christmas, Hermann admitting he’s _wrong_?

Okay, so, a really fucked up Christmas. Maybe not Christmas. Easter? Halloween? Whatever.

“C’mon, I’ll help you get in your hotrod wheels,” Newt laughs, and Hermann scowls, but doesn’t fight or make any snide remarks when Newt takes him under the arms and picks him up, moving him the all of few inches into the wheelchair, and then says, “Don’t forget your cane this time!” 

That earns another huff, and Hermann snatches his book from the bed, and then the cane. 

“Alright, lets go!” 

It takes some muscle, Newt’s not gonna lie about that, but the second they’re out of medical, he picks up speed, and Hermann shouts-- no wait, scratch that, _screeches, “What are you doing, you fool!”_

“Hotrod wheels! Low rider!” Newt laughs. The wheelchair makes an unfriendly sound when they turn the corner at speeds they shouldn’t be going, and Hermann shouts something at him again, but Newt doesn’t hear it cause he’s singing loudly and off key, “ _My papi said, ‘Son, ya’ gonna drive me to drinkin’ if you don’t stop drivin’ that hotrod Lincoln’.”_  

They speed past Tendo, who shouts, “Go, Speed Racer, go!” and then almost collide with Mako, who laughs loudly as she jumps out of the way and cheers them on, until Newt can’t hear her anymore. They aren’t even going that fast, really, Hermann needs to stop screaming at him in a weird mix of English and German.

Newt’s so unfocused that it takes Hermann shouting, “ _Do you even know where you’re going?!”_ that he realizes they’ve gone past Hermann’s door. So he stops them, making the sound of screeching tires in a way that he knows Hermann would dub _obnoxious, unnecessary, and just plain childish!_ He goes slower, wheeling him to the door, and stops. Completely out of breath, he walks in front of Hermann with a shit eating grin and asks, “Keys?”

Hermann looks shocked and completely stunned, red in the face and his hair a little wind whipped, and it makes Newt grin even more. No shame. No shame at _all_. 

“You-- you--” Newt waits a moment for the man to gather his thoughts, but taps his foot cause he’s fucking _impatient_. “You idiot! _Dummkopf_ , you could’ve _killed_ me! Or at least injured even more--” 

“Naw,” Newt waves it off, his cheeks hurting from grinning so much. “I used to do wheelchair races all the fucking time, I’m fucking pro.” 

“Right,” Hermann mutters. “Right, _pro_.” He says the word like it disgusts him.

“So, keys? I’m sure you wanna sleep, or something.” Newt holds out his hand expectantly. 

Hermann stares at him for another moment, like he can’t wrap his oversized, stupid mathematical brain around the fact that they just fucking _did that_ (and Newt will definitely get in trouble for that if Pentecost finds out, he wonders if Hermann will file an official complaint about it), and then riffles through the pockets on his overly nice work pants, and hands the keys over. 

It takes a few more minutes, but eventually Hermann is in his room and sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over slightly in stupid matching pajamas (“I’ll wait in the corner while you change, Hermann! I promise not to peak!”). Being back in Hermann’s room has Newt blushing like a twelve year old school girl trying to ask out her crush, but if the other man notices, he doesn’t comment on it, or chalks it up to the physical exertion of racing them through the hallways. 

“Right, well,” Hermann starts, swinging one leg onto the bed and then leaning over slowly to brace the second one and drag it up on the mattress. Newt watches as he takes a prolonged minute to lay down, and he wants to help him, but knows not to crowd him too much or else he’ll just get _snappy_ , and who needs a Hermann more pissed off than usual? No one, that’s fucking who, and especially not Newt. “Thank you for, uh, helping me back.”

“No probs, Hermann!” 

“Could’ve done without you treating the hallways like your own personal racetrack,” Hermann fires at him, and Newt knew that was coming. He struggles against breaking out into another grin, but ultimately fails. He’s trying not to grin so much, cause his cheeks really do hurt from how much of that he’s been doing. The smiling thing. 

“C’mon, I know you loved it. Thrill of the ride and everything,” Newt teases, and then walks to the door, before he realizes, “Oh!” 

He goes through his pockets, before fishing out the bottle of medication. “Here, take two now, and then two more in twelve hours,” he tells him, and places the bottle on the nightstand, well within Hermann’s reach. 

“Oh, that’s rich,” Hermann’s voice is thick with attitude. “ _You_ telling _me_ to take medication.” 

“Hey! No fair!” Newt protests. “Those’ll help with the pain and stuff!”

“And yours will help with the anxiety and panic attacks,” Hermann says matter-of-factly, and he isn’t even looking at Newt, but the eye roll is _implied_. “I mean, really Newton, they’re meant to _help_ you.” 

“Well...they’re _stupid_ ,” he defends weakly, and then adds, “But those ones aren’t stupid, the pain meds, so fucking take them so you can sleep.” 

Hermann sniffs, and there’s a moment of silence, before he says, “Thank you, Newton. You should probably get some sleep.” 

There’s a moment of pure silence between them, and Newt’s heart strains as he fights the urge to climb into bed with Hermann, to curl up around him and nuzzle his sharp jawline. Fights the urge to kiss his forehead and run his hands through his hair, massage his back to help with the pain. Newt wants to say something, something that’s meaningful and will just express to Hermann that--

“Yeah, lugging you around was _hard_ ,” Newt says before his thoughts go anywhere else, and just like that, they’re back to their usual taunts and banter. “Get well soon, _L_ _iebing_ ,” he coos, and opens the door, closing it right as Hermann lets out an indignant squawk of protest against the insult _and_ the pet name.

He’s walking the familiar path back to his room, but goes straight past it and then back into the lab. Newt won’t be able to sleep. He can’t. He paces the entirety of the lab, counting his steps as he goes. He runs the events of that day over in his head, dissects them until they’re nothing but a fetal pig carcass and the small intestines strewn across the table, heart in his hands, and he still has no answers to anything. He hears the phantom sound of the cracking ladder in his mind, and stops and looks at it. Considers throwing it in the dumpster. He stares at the medication bottles on his desk and considers taking them. 

His mind is playing tricks on him, and Newt groans, taking off his glasses and closing his eyes, grinding the palm of his hands into his eyes so hard he sees specs. In his mind he sees Hermann lying on the ground, lying on the stretcher, lying in the hospital bed. Sees him bloody and bruised and in a lot worse condition than he’s _actually_ in. He hears Hermann’s phantom voice say, “ _Newton_ ,” and it’s like thunder in his mind, shakes him to his core but doesn’t ground him at all. Oh god, cue Fake Heart Attack Number Five as he realizes exactly how much he’s totally _screwed_. Utterly fucked.

As a last act of desperation, he swipes up the bottle he knows is for anxiety, and swallows a few pills dry. His mind grinds to a halt, and Newt is left alone in his-- no, _their--_ lab without even his mind to keep him company. 

He cranks up the radio as loud as it’ll go and pretends he didn’t just realize that he’s is in love with fucking Hermann Gottlieb.

 

*****

 

Newt’s world goes back to normal after that. Well, close to normal, considering their normal was pretty skewed anyway, so besides the whole revelation of I’m-In-Love-With-My-Coworker-Who-I-Actually-Hate-But-Still-Wanna-Fuck, they’re back to their normal routine within a couple of weeks. 

Then the apocalypse happens. 

Newt drifts with a piece of a slightly rotted Kaiju brain (probably not his best decision, but Newt Geiszler is a fucking _rockstar_ , so who says he needs a safety net?) He tries to pretend that being ripped from the drift with a snarl on his lips and the instinct to crush Hermann in the palm of his clawed hand doesn’t have him worried, and it feels like he’s been dunked in a bucket of ice water that has somehow set him on fire. He also pretends that emerging from the drift with Hermann’s hands on his face isn’t nice and the man in his lap doesn’t have him slightly hard, but no, that is not the time to be thinking about that mystery of the universe, they’ve got another one to deal with, one that is about to destroy the world. So he puts it on the back burner. 

Everything from there is a blur, quick as lightning, faster than the speed of light. 

He sprints through the streets of Hong Kong, he stands up to Hannibal Chau, he almost gets eaten by a Kaiju-- _twice_. “And I’m one of the few people who wanna see one up close one day,” he had told Raleigh Becket once, but with his eyes burning in the light of the neon blue tongue centimeters from his face, Newt realizes how goddamn _stupid_ that declaration had been. Seriously, if Hermann knew how terrified he was almost getting eaten by the Kaiju _twice_ , he’d never live it down-- the other man would claim that it was a prime example of when Newt let his ego get in the way of his opinions, and Hermann does _not_ need anymore ammo against him.

Speaking of Hermann-- he fucking drifted with the second Kaiju brain with him. Stupid fucking _Hermann Gottlieb_ and his, “By jove, we are going to own this thing for sure!”

And the whole drifting thing is. Well. Newt doesn’t have _words_ for it. It’s love and hate and joy and despair and blood thirst and pain in an entire _lifetime_ all wrapped into a few seconds, a few seconds that feel like a few millennia. He’s seven and reading his first physics book, his own memory, and he’s thirteen and solving his first calculus equation, not his memory, and he’s crashing and tearing through concrete like it’s nothing and crushing everything in his path, he has to _rip_ and _tear_ and _destroy,_ and it’s him as the Kaiju. For a few crushing seconds, a few crushing millennia, he’s writing the first codes for a Jaeger as he’s dissecting the first sample of Kaiju he’s ever gotten his hands on while he’s ripping his way through the west coast with only the intent to destroy and kill and annihilate. He is no longer he, he is we, they are _one_ as they emerge from the Pacific and watch in horror on the television as they destroy Los Angeles with hands that are clutching other hands and shouting how badass they must be while being kicked out of their dorm as they continue to follow the only order they’ve ever known, to do what they were specifically crafted to do and--

Newt rips the contraption off his head, and he is no longer we and it’s the greatest feeling in the world while also feeling so damn empty, with blood leaking from his nose and tasting it on his lips. He immediately looks over to Hermann, who’s struggling to get the flashing headgear off. Newt’s heart is either beating so fast that he can’t feel it, or he might actually be dead. 

Then Hermann turns to look at him, one eye bloodshot to match his, and Newt’s heart actually stops for the briefest second-- so he realizes he’s probably still alive. They stare at each other for a moment, and Newt wants to say something, something meaningful, something to show that--

“It isn’t going to work,” Hermann says, and Newt helps him up. He can focus on saying the right things later. Another thing on the back burner.

They feel the effects of the ghost drift pretty damn heavily, as they board a helicopter headed straight for the Shatterdome. Their thighs are pressed together, hands so close they might as well be holding hands cause that’s what Newt wants to fucking do. They squish their shoulders together, and at one point Hermann turns his head and whispers, “We better fucking make it there on time,” and Newt can _feel Hermann’s lips on his ear_ , Jesus. That stuff kills a man.

Next thing he knows, Newt is in the control center of the Shatterdome, speaking so fast into the microphone he doesn’t even register what he’s saying, he just knows he has to say it or else he’s going to explode. Hermann interrupts him, occasionally, but for once Newt doesn’t mind in the slightest cause they’re on the same fucking wave length, he knows it, they’re in that post drift, the ghost drift, and for once in their lives they compliment each other perfectly, not just as scientists but as people.

“This better work,” Raleigh says, barely audible through the intercom. The words ricochet through Newt’s skull. _This better work_. _This better work. This better work._

But then everyone just has to sit and wait, and he stands back with Hermann. Shoulders brushing, Hermann leaning heavily on his cane, and they wait together, hearts in the same rhythm. 

Tendo’s voice is shaking as he tells them that Mako’s oxygen is depleting, he mutters quietly to his small surrounding audience that, “He’s giving his oxygen to her.” 

A small, green dot appears in front of them. Mako Mori is alive. 

Something finds his hand, and Newt looks down to see that he’s holding hands with Hermann. He grips tighter. Newt barely registers Tendo shouting at Raleigh to eject, eject already, you’ve done the manual override now _eject_. He can’t hear it over the blood pumping in his ears and the hum in his mind that Hermann is holding hands with him. 

The breach collapses. 

Tendo’s voice sounds relieved, but his shoulders are still tense, and Hermann lets go of Newt’s hand to lean on the table and get closer to the screen. Newt’s brain stops humming. Everyone in the room holds their breath.

The second green dot appears. 

The entire room erupts, and Newt lets out the breath he had been collectively holding with everyone, and he casts a look over to Hermann as the man shuffles closer to him. Newt throws his arm around Hermann’s shoulder, and laughs. They grin together, and Newt laughs louder, and Hermann laughs too, and god, the feeling is _awesome._

They’re both awesome, they’re both brilliant, they’re both geniuses, they’re both fucking _rockstars_. And best of all, they’re _alive_.

 

*****

 

The Shatterdome turns into one huge party after that. Newt stays away from most of it, off to the corner of the mess hall where no one bugs him. He finds Mako at one point, gives her a big hug and kisses her on the cheek, and then Raleigh has her by the hand, dragging her off and laughing, saying something that Newt doesn’t quite catch. But it doesn’t matter, cause he can’t find Hermann, and that’s at the top of the list of Things Newt Doesn’t Want To Do But Actually Wants To Do. And he knows exactly where to go.

Thankfully, the hallways are less chaotic, less hectic, gives Newt time to _think_ , even if he doubles his normal pace to get there. He’s gonna do it, he’s gonna face Hermann and he’s gonna say--

...What the fuck _is_ he going to say?

“Well, I’m awfully surprised to see you here.”

Newt realizes he’s standing in the doorway to their lab, and there’s Hermann, sitting behind his desk, glasses perched on his nose, any traces of blood have been wiped away from his face (which Newt hasn’t done yet, probably should’ve done that before he came here), although his iris is still ringed with red. Except the lights in the lab are so dim that he can’t actually _see_ that, but he can tell, he just _knows_. Newt can’t tell if his heart being caught in a lasso and pulled tight is _his_ feelings, or Hermann’s. The ghost drift is too goddamn confusing. 

“Too much partying, man,” Newt says, then chuckles, stepping into the lab. “Never thought I’d say that, didja?” 

“Aren’t you...” Hermann clears his throat. “A rockstar? As you say?”

Newt grins. “Naw, _we’re_ rockstars.”

Hermann gives him a look-- one that conveys general annoyance, and one that Newt is very, very used to. But he can’t tell if the affection building in his chest is his, or Hermann’s, or maybe both of theirs. God, the ghost drift is so _goddamn confusing._

Newt perches himself on the edge of Hermann’s desk, almost directly in front of Hermann (another glare earned for that), and they sit in silence for a moment. Hermann takes off his glasses to look up at Newt, who in turn looks back down at his...his...friend? Coworker? What the fuck _were_ they?

“So...” Newt starts, and then coughs, feeling his cheeks burn. “You too?” 

He can still feel it in his gut, and could probably find the memories if he bothered to search hard enough through the ghost drift haze. The affection behind the Hell Freezing Glares, the burning desire every time Newt would stretch, shirt riding up and revealing more of his tattoos, Hermann wanting to have him under him and explore how far the tattoos really went--

Hermann fidgets in his chair, looking back down and avoiding eye contact. “Really, it isn’t like I was ever going to _act_ on it, did you honestly think I was that foolish to put our--” 

“I heard you!” Newt blurts, then curses to himself and tries again. “I mean I-- heard you. Jerking off. To me. In the shower. You left your door unlocked and I had a question!” he defends himself quickly.

“Yes I...” Hermann runs a hand over his face, looking down. “I saw that you...heard that.” His cheeks turn slightly pink, oh, but his ears are positively _red_ , and Newt finds it a little too adorable. Ugh. No. When did he turn into such a sap? 

“So uh...what are we...gonna do?” Newt asks. 

Hermann’s head snaps up, and he narrows his eyes. “Nothing. We aren’t going to do _anything_ , are you truly foolish enough to think--” 

Newt rolls his eyes, cause is Hermann really trying to _lie_ when Newt is practically still hooked up to his brain? 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, you _fool_ ,” Hermann snaps, grabbing his cane and standing up. “Listen, we’ll clean out the lab soon, and then we’ll go our separate ways and never have to think about this again--” 

The next few movements are truly impulse, Newt hardly thinks about it as he grabs Hermann by the tie, which is tucked neatly under his sweater (seriously, who dresses this dork), and yanks him forward, kissing him. 

It’s definitely not in Newt’s Top Ten List of Kisses. In fact, it’s not even in the top twenty.  Maybe number twenty three. The other man lets out a noise of surprise, and their teeth clack, and Newt’s pretty sure he knocked his upper lip too hard. Still, it feels like fireworks in his brain, and the need for proximity from the ghost drift is tenfold, hundredfold, whatever, he just _needs to get closer_. And by the look in Hermann’s eyes, the heat behind them, he knows the feeling is shared.

He pulls back for a moment, hand still grasping Hermann’s tie (which is now looser around his neck) and one of them makes a sound that is a lot like a whine, but he’s positive neither of them will admit to ever making it. 

It’s Hermann who takes the initiative this time, slamming their lips together violently. It still isn’t a very good kiss, comparatively, but when Newt see’s the challenge behind his eyes and feels it boil in his blood, he realizes that it’s the only thing that will suit them. They kiss like they argue, with sharp tongues and biting words, with frantic hands and absolute fury. Newt grabs Hermann’s hips and pulls him in closer, and he hears the cane clatter to the floor, and there’s pressure on his left knee; Hermann leaning into him. With his other hand, the man grabs a fistful of hair at the base of Newt’s neck, and moves his head for better leverage so he can shove his tongue into Newt’s mouth. Newt decides he’s pretty lucky that he’s sitting on the desk cause, despite how incredibly unsexy the action actually is, he can tell by the heat in his stomach that it would’ve turned his legs to jelly. Jesus Christ, how fucked up was he? How fucked up were _they?_

They kiss argue for-- well, Newt doesn’t exactly know how long. Time doesn’t work the same way around them anymore, they’re in their own world, their own galaxy, their own universe, which they fucking deserve since they just saved their own. 

When they pull away from each other, finally, Newt tastes blood in his mouth from where Hermann bit him too hard, and he’s pretty sure his lips are swollen just like Hermann’s. It’s only then that Newt is hit with a wave of exhaustion. Running through Hong Kong, almost getting eaten by a Kaiju, _twice,_ drifting with a Kaiju, _twice._ God, he needs some fucking _sleep._

Newt whines a little, and leans his forehead on Hermann’s shoulder. The man laughs quietly, mockingly. “Tired?” 

“...Come sleep in my room?” Newt asks.

He feels Hermann stiffen slightly, but Newt just moves his hands from Hermann’s hips, and moves the hand Hermann has in his hair, laces their fingers together, and putting his other hand on top of Hermann’s, which is still pressing into Newt’s knee for balance. 

“I mean,” he lifts his head up. “You don’t have to. But I don’t know how far apart we can actually be, what with this whole ghost drift thing, I’m pretty sure our proximity has to be pretty close and--”

Hermann _tsks_ loudly and cuts him off, but visibly relaxes, and scowls, saying, “I’m sure that’s your _only_ reason for the proposition, hmm?” 

Newt grins, and leans forward, giving him a closed mouth kiss. “You know me so well,” he coos once he pulls back. 

Hermann rolls his eyes, says a short, “Fine, but let me go to my room to at least get my nightwear--”

“Dude,” Newt laughs, moving Hermann’s hand from his knee, and the other man steps back so Newt can get off his desk. “I don’t sleep with anything on, it’s fine.” 

“Even so,” Hermann sniffs, and Newt grabs his cane from the floor, handing it off. “I would still prefer--”

“I’ve been inside your mind, dude,” Newt says, “seeing you in your birthday suit is no big deal.” 

“No I-- Newton, I don’t think you _understand_ ,” Hermann stammers, bashful and slowly turning more red. “You may think it’s not a “big deal”, however--

It kind of clicks, like he’s gotten a letter from Hermann’s brain but he’s just now opening it, and he finally gets what he _means_. So he silences Hermann with a swift kiss, and boy, he could really get used to this newfound ability of getting him to be quiet. When he pulls back, he looks at Hermann head on, accepting the challenge like he does everything else, keeping their eyes locked. “It’s no big deal, I’m serious,” he repeats, slower this time. 

The other man shifts, then casts his eyes down, and Newt doesn’t have to look at his face to know he’s scowling, and he mutters an, “Oh, alright then. Let’s go.” 

Newt grins like a madman, which he is, and squeezes Hermann’s hand and says, “Awesome!” tugging him forward as they go through the halls of the Shatterdome. 

It doesn’t take long to get back to his room, and the second Newt closes the door behind him, Hermann has him pressed up against the iron, lips on his and tongue invading his mouth, one hand wrapping around Newt’s arm and squeezing just a little too tight, but Newt can handle a little pain, can handle a lot of pain, he has to since he is, essentially, a walking canvas. Something slams next to his head, and Newt realizes it’s Hermann leaning on the door for support, pushing himself closer to Newt.

They stay like that for a moment, until Hermann presses himself impossibly closer into Newt, like he wants to fucking absorb him or something, like if he gets close enough, their skin will fuse together, or Newt will take in a breath and Hermann will crowd in his lungs, and he will suffocate on him, and him alone, and god, how fucked up _were_ they. Newt moans against his mouth, his dick stirring in his pants cause he hasn’t been kissed like this in forever, hasn’t been touched like this in forever, god, it’s _overload_. 

His hips buck on their own accord, and Hermann releases his grip on Newt’s arm to get his hand between them, and then-- _fuck_ \-- palms Newt through his pants. Je-sus Christ. And then he doesn’t _stop_ , and Newt decides Hermann is both great and terrible, wonderful and horrible, and Newt’s mouth slips from Hermann’s as he moans, _loudly_ , cause he hasn’t gotten action like this in so fucking long.

“ _Tsk_ , so loud,” Hermann says against his cheek, and squeezes the bulge in Newt’s jeans. “Don’t know what I expected, really Newton, if you can’t keep your volume down in the lab, how could I expect you to in the bedroom?”

Newt moans again, cause his name falls from Hermann’s mouth like fucking _sin_. He’s not sure he can manage coherent words, and he gurgles something that sounds a lot like, “ _Fuck you_.” 

Hermann brings his head back slightly at the sound, and Newt blinks a few times, looks at him through smudged and cracked glasses. He decides confidence is a good look on Hermann, with red lips and blown pupils and a red eye to match his. 

There’s a thick moment of silence between them, and Newt feels like it’s gonna crush him, until Hermann leans in and growls, “Bed. _Now_.” He detaches himself from Newt, going over and sitting down on the bed with an expectant look on his face, all straight backed and hands folded neatly in his lap, like they hadn’t just been making out against the door and like Newt can’t see Hermann’s hard-on through his pants. Newt stays leaned up against the door for a moment, taking in extremely needed breathes that aren’t filled with Hermann, because that man is the best kind of toxin in Newt’s mind. But he eventually gets off of the door, his legs practically jelly. “Do you, uh,” he clears his throat. “Need a pillow? For your leg?” 

Hermann looks at him, stunned, like no one has ever asked him that question before (and by the looks of his past sexual experiences, it looks like no one ever _has_ , and that makes Newt angry), and then says, “Well I-- I suppose one under my knee would be nice, however since you only have one pillow I can--”

“Naw,” Newt cuts him off, walking over and kneeling down, riffling under his bed until he pulls out the extra pillow he keeps stashed there. “Got an extra one,” he grins up at him. Newt considers, while he’s down there, to mouth the bulge in Hermann’s own slacks, and by the look in Hermann’s eyes, it seems the other man is thinking the same thing.

“You-- you have an extra?” Hermann asks, furrowing his eyebrows together. “Did you--”

“Yeah, I stole it,” he continues to grin, handing Hermann the pillow. 

He scowls in response. “Honestly, that is absolutely absurd, why the _hell_ did you--

Newt effectively silences him by leaning forward, nosing at the slight bulge in Hermann’s pants, and Hermann’s mouth snaps shut. Then he presses his lips to it, opening his mouth, and lets out a shaky breath through his nose when Hermann’s hands are suddenly in his hair. The touch is soft, and he runs his fingers through Newt’s hair, making it stand up and combing out knots. Newt tongues at the fabric, and suddenly Hermann tugs at his hair. 

He squeaks slightly when it happens, but continues mouthing Hermann’s crotch and-- _shit_ , his hair is being pulled again, and it’s that silver lining of pain and pleasure and it’s so fucking _addicting_ , so fucking hot, he moans against Hermann’s clothed groin. Another hair pull. Newt’s palming himself through his jeans cause really, the whole thing is getting him all hot and bothered, he hasn’t done this in _so fucking long_ \--

“Newton,” Hermann rasps, and Newt groans again, the man’s voice going straight to his dick, but he peers up, over the top of his glasses (which have slipped down his nose quite a bit), and he can see a blurry image of Hermann. His shitty eyesight is absolutely _useless_ right now, so he lets his mouth fall from it’s current place and he tilts his head up, pushing his glasses up his nose. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and shit, his voice sounds really hoarse. 

“You must, ah, should most likely stop because I may...er...” Hermann’s face goes red, but then clears his throat and says, “L-Look! You’re ruining my perfectly good slacks!”

Newt blinks, then laughs. Sure enough, there’s a wet patch on the front of Hermann’s pants. He says, “Sure, uh-huh, I’ll stop. You should probably get comfy too,” and adds a wink at the end for good measure. Hermann nods in agreement, looking down at him with a hungry look in his eyes, and Newt says, “But to do that, you’ve gotta let go of my hair.” 

Hermann coughs again, muttering, “Right,” as he untangles his fingers from Newt’s hair, letting him stand up. 

It takes Hermann a minute to adjust, but eventually he’s laying down on Newt’s bed (“Honestly, do you _ever_ bother to tidy it up?”) with a pillow under his bad knee, and really, Newt could get used to the look of Hermann in his bed. 

“Stop staring and get over here,” Hermann snaps at him, blushing even more, and Newt laughs, taking off his glasses and putting them on the bedside table, and climbs on top of him, kissing him soundly. He straddles his hips, hands braced on either side of Hermann’s head to balance. Meanwhile Hermann’s hands are back in his hair, tugging and fisting it, and Newt still finds it a little too hot. He rolls his hips, and the pang of need that goes through him (from both him and Hermann, maybe he could get used to the whole ghost drift thing, cause who knows how long it’ll last) feels so goddamned _good_ that he does it again, and again, the friction blurring his mind. He’s not sure what he’s feeling, not sure which feelings are his and which are Hermann’s, but he can’t even bring himself to care at this point, it just feels so goddamned _good_.

Eventually it occurs to him that he does not want to jizz his pants, and apparently neither does Hermann, so he balances on one hand and fumbles with the button on his jeans, eventually getting it undone. He feels around the button on Hermann’s (still slightly damp) pants and realizes he can’t fucking multitask, not with Hermann biting on his lower lip and tugging at his hair and not with his mind so fucking _clouded,_ so he sits up and fully balances on his knees.

“Dude,” he says, looking down at the blurry image of his hands undoing Hermann’s pants. “Why are your pants so fucking complicated?” 

“My pants aren’t complicated!” he snaps back, and Newt finally tugs his slacks down to his knees. “It’s not my fault you’re clearly _that_ incompetent.” 

“Are you wearing _briefs_?” Newt asks as he tugs down the briefs too. “That’s like, the least sexiest underwear out there.” 

“Did you expect me to be wearing _lingerie_?” Hermann sneers in response. “I’d expect you’re wearing some sort of... _Kaiju themed_ boxers.” 

Newt laughs, tugging down his own pants, and says, “Don’t own a pair! Although, as far as themes go...”

“Are those _Star Wars themed?_ ” Hermann sputters, sounding slightly appalled and staring at, yes, Newt’s Star Wars themed boxers. 

He knew it would get him laid someday. 

Newt grins, licks his lips, clears his throat, then deepens his voice to say, “Join me, and together, we can rule the galaxy.” 

Hermann _gapes_ at him, and Newt laughs aloud, tugging down his boxers just enough so that his dick can get free, and then Hermann has a hold of his tie, dragging him back up and saying, “Kiss me, you absolute _idiot_.” 

Newt thinks about making another Star Wars reference, but decides against it. Besides, his mouth is pretty preoccupied anyway, what with Hermann’s tongue practically down his throat. He steadies himself with one hand, then uses the other to grab hold of both their dicks, pumping them together. 

Hermann groans into his mouth, so Newt goes faster, and then it’s overload again, he can’t focus on both kissing _and_ jerking them off.  So he lets his mouth fall from Hermann’s, just in time too, because the other man throws his head back into the pillow, so Newt can kiss the newly exposed neck in front of him. Gently, ghosting at first, until he takes initiative and bites down on the pale collarbone, and then he hears a sharp intake of breath and, “Fuck! Ohh, god, f-- _Newton_ , oh god.”

That’s it, that’s all he needs, and it pushes him over the edge. He groans against Hermann’s neck, and his orgasm slams into him, hips jerking forward, backward, forward, he can’t control it. He guesses Hermann feels it too, cause he moans in time with Newt, and Newt hears something that he doesn’t know if Hermann’s said it aloud, or if he thought it, or if it’s in German or English. He feels both their dicks pulsing in his hand, suddenly both wet and slightly sticky. 

It all slows down, gradually. Newt slumps on top of Hermann, mindful of his leg, and mouths the underside of the his jaw. He spends a moment feeling Hermann breathe against him, feels both their hearts go from a hammering speed to a normal pace, and basks in the mutual, content glow. 

“Well,” Hermann finally breaks the silence. “Now I am _definitely_ not sleeping in these clothes.” 

Newt props his chin on Hermann’s chest, and looks up at him. “Want a washcloth?” 

The other man _tsks_ , and says, “Please.” 

Newt grins, can’t help himself, can’t stop, everything’s so great. He hops off Hermann, finally fully shedding his pants and boxers and grabs the extra pair of glasses from the bedside drawer (always keeps an extra, unbroken pair, because really, Newt breaks glasses a lot more than he likes to admit), and goes to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and running it under his leaky sink, then steps back out and tosses it to Hermann. 

He doesn’t know if the man catches it, because he goes back inside the bathroom and washes off his face, washes the dried blood from his nose and then cleans himself up some more, running wet fingers through his hair. His scalp is sensitive from the amount of times Hermann had pulled at his hair, but he just keeps grinning at himself in the mirror. He looks like an idiot. He doesn’t care, doesn’t try to stop, cause he knows Hermann will definitely say something about how much of a _fool, immature manchild, absolute moron, Kaiju grrrrrrrrrroupie_ he is within the next twenty-four hours, but he knows he’ll mean it with absolute and unwilling affection. And that’s great. 

When he steps out of the bathroom, he loosens his tie and pulls it over his head, discarding it on the floor, and starts to unbutton his shirt. There’s a sudden wrenching feeling in his gut, and he looks up, only to see Hermann, now completely nude on his bed, staring at him intently. 

“I’ve always, ah, wondered...how far the tattoos went,” the man says, sounding slightly breathless. Newt knows he’s practically glowing now, and he unbuttons the rest of his shirt, shrugging is off his shoulders and onto the floor next to his tie. 

“Full chest, arms, and back, baby,” he says, doing a quick 360 to let Hermann see. “But you can admire how awesome I look later, I’m fucking tired.”

Hermann scowls in response. “Egotistical moron,” he says quietly, but clear enough so that he’s heard. “It’s a wonder anyone can stand you.” 

“You’re the one in my bed, dude,” Newt says with a grin, and he starts to walk over, about to make another snide remark when he stops. Looks at the scar on Hermann’s knee. 

It’s by no means pretty. It’s terrible, ghastly, slightly discolored from the rest of his skin. A particularly ugly line running across it. The sight makes Newt’s stomach drop. 

He guesses Hermann feels it, because he fidgets slightly and says, “Ah, yes, from the...”

“Yeah,” Newt breathes. “I know.”

“You see,” Hermann begins, starting to sit up, “I told you that--...maybe getting my nightwear is a good idea, I can simply...”

“What? No,” Newt says, shaking his head and clearly Hermann’s doubt from his mind. He keeps his eyes on it, then puts his hand on it softly. “It’s--perfect. You’re perfect. I mean--” his face heats up at the words, god, could he be any more _cliche_ , so he quickly covers his mistakes with, “Everyone needs a badass scar.” 

Hermann doesn’t let his little slip go, however, and says, “Stop being such a goddamned sap, Newton!” He lays back down, and there Newt goes again, grinning. He can’t fucking stop. 

He takes off his second pair of glasses, placing them next to the broken ones, and climbs into bed, over Hermann, and grabs the sheets, pulling it over the both of them. He gets in one position, decides it isn’t comfortable, and shifts slightly. He does it again. He does it again, and Hermann snaps, “Stop moving, by god, are you always so restless?” Newt flicks him on the forehead in retaliation, and the man squawks, but Newt slings his arm over Hermann’s chest, and curls into his side, head resting on his shoulder. 

Hermann wraps an arm around Newt’s shoulders, and says quietly, “You better not move from this position, or there is a low chance of you waking up in the morning.” 

Newt decides not to mention that he drools in his sleep. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> title from No Children by The Mountain Goats


End file.
